


more than i thought could exist

by tsurakutemo



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurakutemo/pseuds/tsurakutemo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are so many things Michael never expected. He never expected to be in a band, or opening for One Direction. He definitely never expected to have a lapful of Harry Styles and Harry Styles' hand on his dick, but here he is.</p>
<p>Funny, that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	more than i thought could exist

**Author's Note:**

> I barely even know 5 Seconds of Summer but here we are. Inspired by that lovely picture of 5SoS in football jerseys I was going to embed but haven't done because I don't know how to work AO3's html. Oops. In all reality I'm just indulging myself because I really like it when Harry wears football jerseys.
> 
> Title from The XX's Angels, and it's got absolutely nothing to do with the fic.

“So. Final show.”

“Yeah.”

Harry grins down at him and Michael smiles back.

“Did you like it?”

Michael scoffs just a little bit, stretching out in the chair he's sitting in. “What kind of ridiculous question is that? I _loved_ it you twat.”

“ _Oh_ , picking up, are we?”

Harry's smirking down at him, the little shit, and Michael wants to- well, he's not entirely sure. Do something, at least, to wipe that smug expression off his face.

“Had to, didn't I?” he asks. “Considering you wrote it all over my back at some point. I don't know what'll win out. Mourning over not opening for you or celebrating that I'll have my own shirts again.”

Harry merely snorts at him. “I made up for that.”

“Yeah. You did.”

Michael glances down at the jersey he's wearing. It really is lovely, soft and fitting him just right over the shoulders.

  
“Thanks for this,” he says earnestly. “Really. We all really like 'em.”

“I'm glad,” Harry replies and smiles, a small tug of his lips, “I was a bit nervous, but it seems like they were well received. 's not just from me though, it's from all of us.”

Michael laughs. “Mostly from you though, right?”

“Mostly.” Harry grins down at him before he continues. “Had it been just from me, yours would've read idiot on the back.”

“Heeeeyyy,” Michael complains and mocks him all at once, and Harry flips him off before dumping down in his lap. Michael let's out an undignified 'oof'. “Bloody bony ass, you've got.”

Harry rearranges himself until he's straddling him and pulls at his jersey. “You love my ass.” he says, as if it's obvious, and Michael silently agrees that yes, yes he does, so he tells him that out loud, with an added comment.

“Yeah, I do. Even if it's the flattest ass I've ever seen. Now Louis' ass, on the other hand–”

“Oh shut up,” Harry grumbles and finally gets Michael's jersey off, even if Michael doesn't really understand what the purpose is. Maybe he wants to have some more 'naked bonding time', or whatever on Earth he called it the second time they met. The four of them had been very horrified. He remembers the moment with fondness.

“Louis' arse is about as big as his ego.”

“You love him anyway. Also, you're definitely saying you've got a small ego.”

Harry preens down at him. “Good lad, you figured that out so quick!”

Michael may want to hit him. Just a bit. With his lips. In his face. But then Harry's stripping his own t-shirt off so Michael just kind of stares.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level. He's seen Harry starkers before, but that was never this close.

Harry doesn't dignify him with a reply, simply tosses his t-shirt to the floor and then pulls the jersey on, and _oh_. Michael clears his throat. Harry smiles.

He gets up after a moment, and Michael misses the body heat. Harry turns around, twists his head to try and get a look at the back.

“Is this okay?”

“My name is on your back.” Michael says, voice meek. It's all he can think off. He has a one track mind, it's honestly not his fault.

Harry smiles indulgently. “It would appear so.” he answers.

They fall silent, and Harry turns back around to face him, suddenly somewhat self-conscious. Or so Michael thinks. He hasn't seen him self-conscious before, and it feels strangely intimate.

“Is that okay?” Harry asks him, and Michael clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, that's more than okay.”

Harry moves back into his lap, their legs pressed together because the chair isn't that wide, and he puts a tentative hand on Michael's shoulder, carefully sliding it down his bare chest, fingers skimming across a collarbone.

Michael may or may not be having an aneurysm.

“Harry,” he says, and can hear how strangled he sounds. Harry's gaze snaps up to meet his. He's biting his lip, and it already looks so obscenely red. Blowjob lips, Calum had told him. Michael thinks Calum had a point.

“We won't see each other for a while.” he says, and he can tell Harry knows.

“I just want...” Harry's voice cracks, and he clears his throat before he continues. “I just want you to have something to remember me by until then.”

Michael feels the urge to pull him close well up, but he doesn't quite dare. Instead he cracks a small joke.

“You could've just given me a fruit basket.”

Harry smiles, but it's tentative, like he's afraid Michael's going to laugh and shove him off and call him a dick. Michael would never. He slowly puts his hands on the small of Harry's back instead, watches his eyes momentarily flutter close before focusing on him again, dark and promising and Michael really wants to kiss him.

So he does, gets a hand up behind Harry's neck and pulls him down. Harry has to hunch a bit because he's a giant, and their noses bump, lips brushing uncertainly before reconnecting a bit firmer, and Harry makes a small noise when Michael's hand tightens in the hair at the base of his neck. It feels right, but Michael doesn't want to dwell on that.

“How do we do this?” he asks when they part, their breaths coming heavier, and Harry smiles a little, hopeful.

“Maybe we could. We don't have to go all the way, like. But, I just thought. I honestly just thought of kissing you.”

“Yeah?” Michael smiles, takes a deep breath, and pulls Harry further into his lap, pulls him _down_ until he's sitting proper and relaxed. Harry shifts, squirms a bit, feels that Michael's cock twitches in his pants and looks up.

“Can I?” he asks. Michael nods, even if he doesn't really know what he's asking for, and Harry leans in and kisses him again.

It's nice, kissing, even if Michael's never considered himself much of a professional at it. Not like Harry surely is, but this is. It really is just nice. Sweet, a bit dry maybe, until Harry's tongue flicks over his lips and Michael parts his, allows Harry to deepen it if he wants.

Harry does, simultaneously wriggling back a bit and moving a hand down to rub over him. Michael jumps a bit, then sighs and spreads his legs as much as he's able in the tiny chair and with Harry's own bracketing them.

Harry pulls back and they shift and wriggle until Michael's able to pull his trousers down enough for Harry to pull his cock out. They both look down, Harry's fingers long and his hand so _large_ , holding him in his fist. Harry rubs a thumb over the head, and he has to shift a bit, mind racing a mile a minute as he tries to just focus.

There are so many things Michael never expected. He never expected to be in a band, or opening for One Direction. He definitely never expected to have a lapful of Harry Styles and Harry Styles' hand on his dick, but here he is.

Funny, that.

“It's a bit dry,” he says at last. “Can you, I mean-”

“Yeah.” Harry says, gone a bit breathless it seems, and let's go to lick at his palm. Michael makes a choked noise, and Harry grins at him, slightly back in his element.

It's better when he takes hold of him again, and Michael can only watch as he begins to stroke, his toes curling a bit against the carpet, and he has no idea where to put his hands, drifting them over his back and then towards his arms and down. Harry removes his free hand from his shoulder and grabs one of Michael's, places it on his hip, and Michael lets the other fall to the same spot on the other side.

It's not hurried and there's no fumbling, nothing frantic to it. Michael leans back and closes his eyes, concentrating on how it feels and the weight of Harry over him. A moan passes his lips when Harry twists his wrist at the top, and Harry kisses his cheek. Michael can feel him grinning against his skin, but can hardly be bothered.

“'s it good?” Harry asks, voice low, somewhere near his ear but not quite, and Michael nods.

“'s really good,” he answers, a shudder running through him as Harry's thumb moves up and down the vein on the underside. “So good.”

He's never been very vocal, however, and lets Harry do as he likes, pushes his hands up underneath the jersey a bit to rub his thumbs against his hipbones. Harry strokes a bit faster, short, sharp tugs that has his fingers catching on the head a few times, rubs quick over the slit, and Michael comes with another shudder and a moan that he muffles against Harry's neck, turning his head.

“Oh,” Harry murmurs, pulling back, and Michael forces his eyes to look follow Harry's gaze down. “That's really- I like that.”

Michael's chest his moving rapidly up and down, but he grins, a bit.

“Is that a thing for you then?” he asks. “Dirty talk?”

Harry sticks his tongue out at him, and Michael likes how it's not weird, how they can still be bantering. Harry climbs off and looks around, but finally wipes his hand on his abandoned t-shirt. Michael wrinkles his nose.

“That's gross.”

“You're gross.” Harry retaliates. His trousers are tented, but he's not saying anything, so Michael takes that in his hands – quite literally so.

He makes grabby hands until Harry moves close enough, and then turns him around and pulls him back until Harry gets the point and gets back into his lap, but with his back to him this time, so Michael can get a good, proper look at his name on the jersey. He makes sure Harry won't accidentally touch his cock, because doesn't think he'd handle that very well right now.

“Is this alright with you?” he wonders instead, and Harry nods, quick.

“Yeah. Yeah, 's alright, promise.”

He sounds a bit overwhelmed, and he hasn't even been touched yet, and Michael hums, slides an arm around his waist as he spits into his other hand and then reaches into his pants and gets a hand around him. Harry jerks slightly, thighs twitching, but he can't really move that much in this position.

He bends backwards a bit, and Michael thinks that has to be uncomfortable when his head comes to rest against the top of the headrest. Harry turns his head and grins at him, slightly dopey, but his eyes are bright, dimple prominent, and Michael smiles back and kisses him as he begins to stroke him off.

Harry whimpers slightly into his mouth, eyes closing, and Michael turns his head when Harry's ability to kiss kind of disappears, looking over Harry's shoulder and down. He rests his chin there, fascinated, even if he can't see Harry's dick like this, can only watch.

Harry leaks, though, drops of precome Michael can spread with his fingers and make it even easier, slicker and better, and Harry comes with a loud moan, fucking into Michael's fist as he rides it out. They're silent for a bit, Harry coming down from it, and Michael is only pleased he managed to wring reactions like that from him.

He reaches down at last, fumbling for Harry's t-shirt and can barely get a hold of it. Wiping his hand on it, he drops it in Harry's lap.

“You should probably shower,” he says, and Harry frowns.

“Don't wanna.” he says petulantly, but slips out of Michael's lap, gets up and shifts, grimacing at the fact that his pants are sticky, soaking through to his trousers.

He takes off his jersey after a moment, and they swap clothes so that Harry's got his come-stained t-shirt in his hands, eyeing it.

“I might just never wash this.” he says, and Michael makes a face at him.

“That's gross.”

“You're gross.”

Michael laughs at the repeat from earlier, but then tilts his head. “Is this alright then?” he asks. “We'll be alright?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. If you... I mean, if that's what you want. This is what you want. We'll be in the US soon enough, and... yeah. It's your call.”

Michael nods. “I won't say no,” he says. “But. I've gotta think, yeah. And not with the wrong head.”

Harry grins. “I've taught you well.”

“Yeah, you've corrupted me. Oh, what will my poor mother say when I see her next.” Michael says, hand to his cheeks and eyes wide. Harry tosses his t-shirt at his head.

“Twat.”

“Ew.” Michael returns, wrinkling his nose as he drags the t-shirt off his head and tosses it back. “You keep that, Styles. I don't want it.”

“You want me.” Harry smirks, cocky and confident, but his eyes are uncertain.

Michael laughs. “I do,” he replies, but his voice is sincere, and Harry smiles at him.

 

Later on, when Michael's on his way home, sitting in an airplane for more hours than he likes to think about, he knows that yes, he really does.


End file.
